The Profit in Cuba, a special edition of Marcus Lemonis’s CNBC show about making money through commerce, calls to mind the old joke about two friends who are ambushed by a hungry bear.

As they flee, one gasps to the other, “I’m not sure we can outrun this bear.”

The other replies, “I don’t have to outrun the bear. I only have to outrun you.”

The Profit in Cuba, which airs Tuesday at 10 p.m. ET, has Lemonis talking to a half dozen newly minted entrepreneurs around Havana.

They’re part of a new wave of Cubans taking advantage of the Castro government’s relaxation on private enterprise, and Lemonis finds almost giddy enthusiasm despite deeply challenging obstacles.

For starters, materials are often hard to obtain in a country that has remains hamstrung by the U.S.-led trade embargo instituted in the early 1960s.

A woman who makes Guayabera shirts (below) must go to the black market to find enough material to make a dozen shirts a month. A brother and sister who opened a bakery often cannot find chocolate. A woman who makes artisanal soap would love to make perfume as well, but can’t find bottles.

Then there are government regulations. A successful business cannot open a second location. A restaurant can only have a certain modest number of seats. A farmer must sell most of his honey to the government.

It’s capitalism in a primitive, limited form.

But it is capitalism, and Lemonis celebrates it even as he repeatedly assures viewers the Cuban economy is collapsing under the weight of unsustainable socialist policies.

Cuba guarantees free housing, health care and higher education. It also pays a minimum stipend to all citizens, approximately $25 a month.

So that’s what most Cubans make. Those with specialized training, like a dentist, might make $50 a month.

Which explains why the woman who co-owns that bakery gave up dentistry to run a doughnut shop.

She’ll make more money. A lot more money.

Lemonis finds most of the budding Cuban capitalists dodge questions about their exact income, presumably because making too much invites the government to take too much of it.

Now there’s a wariness that capitalists around the world will drink to.

Still, the bottom line is this. The woman who sells eight Guayabera shirts a month, with an approximate profit of $30 per shirt, is making almost ten times what the government would pay her.

In the U.S., $240 a month wouldn’t buy groceries. In Cuba, it enables you to live in high style.

You don’t have to outrun the bear. Just the guy next door.

Lemonis details some of the drawbacks to Cuba’s new capitalism, including a strict ceiling on just how much even a successful business can grow and prosper.

The worry there, he suggests, is that Cubans who get a taste of capitalism may decide to leave and try it in another country where there are no ceilings. That’s a problem because, among other things, emigration is already a major problem for the island.

Lemonis may overstate a few things. He talks about an “artisanal market” that’s mostly a collection of tourist souvenir stands. But he’s not exaggerating that a lot of Cubans are excited about the new policies – and expectant in many cases that this door will soon swing even farther open.